


Leftist Unity

by SatanScribbles



Category: The Centricide (Webseries)
Genre: Angst, Non-Graphic Violence, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:34:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25322458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SatanScribbles/pseuds/SatanScribbles
Summary: Basically Ancom is fed up with the Centricide but is pinning after Tankie and then Nazi gets involved and is a jerk.Ancom uses qui/quem pronouns but I'm sorry if I accidentally misgender quem at any point. Also, I drew inspiration from some other Leftist Unity fanfics I've read. Anyways I'll let you read this in peace without my nagging, but disclaimer it's really bad, I wrote it at like 2:51am.
Relationships: Ancom/tankie, leftist unity - Relationship
Comments: 2
Kudos: 55





	1. Chapter 1

Ancom was sprawled across the couch, still a bit high on whatever drugs ancap had sold quem. Ancom’s mind was wandering, thinking about riot techniques or the meaning of life or whatever else quem’s drug addled mind came up with, when quem’s phone pinged, bringing quem back to real life. Uninterested, Ancom lazily reached over to grab quem’s phone, noting that it was somehow already 2:51 in the morning, but dread filled quem’s stomach when qui saw that it was a notification about quem’s grades. Hesitantly, Ancom clicked on the notification. It was a C+.  
Ancom bit quem’s lip, holding back tears. Usually qui wouldn’t be so affected by something as inconsequential as grades, but the drugs were messing with quem’s brain and qui was just so tired, making everything seem worse than it really was. As Ancom stared at the phone screen, quem’s disappointment morphed into anger.  
This was all because of Centricide. Usually, Ancom worked part time at a bakery (a worker cooperative, of course), attended classes at community college, and on quem’s spare time, organized protests and rallies and such (the fash needed bashing). Life was pretty chill, but ever since joining Centricide, everything had just gone downhill. Living at the Centricide house was annoying, stressful, and with Nazi around, unsafe. Nazi had already tried to attack Ancom several times, not to mention all the misgendering. Ancom could tolerate all that for a little while, but at some point it was just too much, so qui just dulled the pain with more drugs.  
But as Ancom stared at the C+ qui had gotten on quem’s last essay on gender theory, anger brewing, something snapped inside of quem. This was the last straw. Centricide was taking a toll on quem’s physical well being, quem’s mental health, and now quem’s grades. It was time to get out of here.  
Ancom’s head felt clearer than it had in days, maybe weeks (qui couldn’t remember the last time qui was completely sober) as qui got up and quietly tip-toed to quem’s room, trying not to wake the other extremists. Ancom retrieved quem’s large duffel bag from the closet and hastily shoved quem’s rumpled clothing, pride flags, and other assorted belongings inside. Then, qui tip-toed to the kitchen. Qui worked efficiently and quietly, grabbing the quinoa-tofu stir fry qui had made the day before from the fridge, then taking some assorted snacks that were lying around in the pantry, and finally helping quemself to some of Ancap’s weed.  
But there was one more thing that Ancom needed. Qui went back to the room that qui had claimed as quem’s and retrieved quem’s copy of “the Communist Manifesto,” which had been a gift from Tankie. Admittedly, qui had never read the whole book through, though not for lack of trying. The words were just so confusing, and theory in general was insufferably boring. The only other book Ancom owned was a well loved, albeit slightly beaten up copy of the one theory book Ancom had read: “the Conquest of Bread,” which Ancom already had packed in quem’s duffel bag. Ancom had been planning to leave the communist manifesto behind, but it reminded Ancom of Tankie and Ancom just couldn’t leave it behind. Blushing slightly at the thought of the other leftist, Ancom shook quem’s head, trying to clear away those confusing thoughts and stepped outside into the frigid night.  
The air was crisp and the moon shined bright overhead, lighting the way for Ancom as qui biked through the empty city streets. As Ancom biked through the night, making quem’s way across the city, qui felt a sense of liberation, of freedom, like qui could finally breathe again. Just as the first streaks of pink and orange began entering the sky, Ancom reached the edge of the city. Qui biked along the highway, and exited at the first exit, turning onto a small road and from there, onto a gravel pathway. After a few minutes of biking, Ancom was finally there. Home.  
For Ancom, home was a small trailer park. Sure, it wasn’t much, but it was enough for Ancom. The Centricide house, which was in reality one of Ancap’s many mansions, felt much too big, too fancy, too empty, like no one had ever lived there. Until the extremists arrived of course, then the mansion had managed to feel cramped and stuffy. Either way, it was good to be back home.  
Ancom unpacked quem’s belongings and settled into a chair, unsure of what to do next. Qui was tired, but quem’s mind was restless and Ancom knew if qui tried to go to sleep quem’s mind would only go to a bad place, and then qui would really be fucked. Instead, Ancom busied quemself by making some weed brownies. Baking always helped get quem’s mind off of things, and it sure was a better coping mechanism than drugs.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nazi is an asshole and oh boy this gets violent and angsty

Meanwhile, at the Centricide house, Tankie had woken up promptly at 7:00am, as usual, and had done his daily exercise, then taken a shower. Now, he walked into the kitchen to make breakfast. He was surprised Ancom wasn’t on the couch, he could have sworn that’s where qui had been last night. He tried not to worry about quem’s absence, reasoning that Ancom might have woken up and dragged quemself to quem’s room, where qui was supposed to sleep, but not worrying was easier said than done, especially when it came to Ancom.  
Tankie had already finished breakfast when Nazi came downstairs, and shortly thereafter, Ancap followed. Both settled down at the kitchen table, Nazi eating toast with marmalade like always and Ancap eating some fancy store bought pastry. There was a comfortable sort of silence as Nazi read the paper and Ancap looked at his phone, presumably checking the stock market, but Tankie broke that silence as he loudly cleared his throat, gaining the attention of the other two extremists.  
“Er, have either of you seen Ancom this morning?” Tankie asked.  
“Of course not, that degenerate sleeps all morning half the time. What, are you worried about him?” Nazi scoffed.  
“It’s quem, not him!” Tankie snapped.  
“First you’re worried, and now you’re standing up for that delusional f*ggot? God, you really have gone soft.” Nazi replied, the disgust evident in his voice.  
“Shut up, I have not gone soft!” Tankie retorted, his face flushed as red as a tomato.  
“Sure you haven’t.” Nazi replied, rolling his eyes. “Well if you haven’t, prove it. Don’t go looking for that degenerate all of this morning.”  
Tankie paused. He was a proud man, but he was also more worried than he liked to admit. In the end though, it was pride that won. For the rest of the morning, Tankie tried to busy himself with whatever he could, cleaning, arguing with Ancap, and re-reading one of his favorite books, the Communist Manifesto. But Tankie couldn’t focus on the words on the page. Instead, his mind drifted. He’d given a copy of this book to Ancom once. Had Ancom read it? Did qui even still have the book?  
Meanwhile, Nazi had slipped out of the Centricide house unnoticed. He knew that Ancom wasn’t home, and had a pretty good idea of where Ancom might be. Smiling sadistically, like a hunter thinking about it’s next prey, he sped across the city in his car. Soon, Nazi arrived at Ancom’s trailer encampment, parking haphazardly and walking up to Ancom’s house, not bothering to knock and instead kicking down the door. Inside, Ancom was listening to “Fuck the Police” and baking weed brownies, but qui spun around as qui heard the flimsy door crash to the floor. Quem’s eyes locked with Nazi’s as qui slowly backed against the wall, quem’s knuckles turning white as qui clenched the bat. Nazi spoke, slow and menacing.  
“I should have known you’d leave the Centricide cause.” Ancom’s eyes widened. “You might think I’d be happy you’re gone, and obviously you were nothing but a burden, but you’re not leaving before I knock some sense into you and put you in your place, you sub human filth.”  
Without warning, Nazi leapt across the room, tackling Ancom. But qui was prepared, and with a sickening crunching noise, quem’s bat collided with Nazi’s skull. Ancom pushed Nazi to the floor, swinging quem’s bat at Nazi’s face, but qui froze, quem’s empathetic side seeing the terror on Nazi’s face. In that moment of hesitation, Nazi struck, shoving Ancom off of him and pinning Ancom to the floor.  
“You think you’re so great, but you’re really just a degenerate, f*ggot piece of scum.” Nazi punched Ancom in the face, the stomach, anywhere really, over and over and over again, as Ancom struggled helplessly. Then Nazi kneed Ancom in the groin, laughing sadistically as Ancom doubled over in pain.  
“Ha, so you really are just a man, no, a boy. You’re fucking delusional.” Nazi laughed, punching Ancom and verbally abusing quem, exploiting quem’s darkest fears and insecurities. Suddenly, Nazi was the nagging voice in Ancom’s head, the voice telling quem that qui wasn’t good enough, the voice Ancom tried to suppress with drugs, alcohol, anything that worked.   
“You’re delusional.” Punch.  
“You’re weak.” Punch.  
“You deserve to die.” Punch.  
But just as Ancom was about to lose consciousness, spiraling into quem’s deepest, darkest thoughts and fears, the beating stopped.  
Ancom opened quem’s eyes to see Nazi’s face just inches from his, smiling the cold, heartless smile of someone who has no remorse.  
“Just know that when I kill you, no one will care, not even your precious Tankie.” Those words hurt more than any punch.  
But at that moment, there was the screeching sound of a car parking and Tankie burst into Ancom’s house, followed by Ancap. Before Nazi knew what was happening, Tankie tackled him, pushing him to the floor and beating him, making him pay for what he had done. In a matter of minutes, Nazi blacked out, at which point Ancap stepped in.  
“Are you done yet, statist? I’ll take care of him from here.” Tankie scowled, but agreed, turning his attention to Ancom.  
Looking at Ancom’s unconscious body, bruised and bloody, made Tankie blood boil. But now was not the time for revenge, now was the time for healing. He picked Ancom up, carrying quem across the room and gingerly laying quem on the couch. Then he walked into quem’s bathroom, got out the first aid kit, and attempted to treat quem’s wounds as best he could. Meanwhile, Ancap dragged Nazi’s limp body out to his limo and drove off, presumably back to the Centricide house.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tankie and Ancom are awkward

Ancom opened quem’s eyes, quem’s vision blurry. Qui tried to sit up, but pain flooded every inch of quem’s body, bringing back the memories of the previous day. Of leaving the Centricide house, of Nazi’s attack. A figure emerged in Ancom’s peripheral vision, walking towards Ancom. First, Ancom panicked, thinking it was Nazi, but qui then realized it was Tankie. Wait… had Tankie saved quem?  
“You are awake?” Tankie asked in his signature heavy Russian accent.  
“Yeah” Ancom winced slightly at the effort it took just to talk and how dysphoria inducingly low and raspy quem’s voice sounded.  
Again, Ancom tried to sit up, wanting to seem ok, but Tankie lightly pushed quem back down.  
“Ancom, be careful my comrade! You are injured, do not try to move.” Tankie admonished lovingly but firmly.  
“Really Tankie, it’s nothing, just some bruises” Ancom insisted.  
“No, what you need is rest and a good bowl of borscht.” Tankie replied sternly, then walked over to Ancom’s kitchen.  
Meanwhile, Ancom drifted back off into a painkiller induced sleep, but was awoken by Tankie’s voice (which qui had always found rather sexy).  
“Comrade, I made you some borscht.” Tankie said, offering a bowl of blood red soup to Ancom.  
Smiling gratefully, Ancom reached for the bowl, but quem’s hands shook, sloshing borscht on the blanket that was covering quem as qui tried to eat a spoonful. Looking worried, Tankie took the bowl back from Ancom and after a moment's hesitation, took a spoonful of the borscht and held it up to Ancom’s mouth.  
“Eat.”  
Of course it was right then that Ancom became acutely aware of how close Tankie was and how sincerely worried he looked. The thought made Ancom’s face flush furiously, and qui prayed that Tankie didn’t notice. Trying not to dwell on that, Ancom accepted the spoonful of soup. They continued like that, Tankie feeding Ancom and both of them blushing and looking anywhere but each other. Too soon, the bowl of soup was empty and there was an awkward silence.  
“Thanks so much Tankie, I really appreciate… the soup was really good.” Ancom said, breaking the silence and finally looking into the communist’s eyes.  
“Anything for you, my comrade.” Tankie replied, then blushed even more than before, looking away and getting up to “go wash the bowl and spoon.”  
But when he returned, he had a serious look on his face. Ancom wasn’t looking forward to this conversation.  
“Comrade, I wanted to ask you a question.”  
“Yes?” Ancom responded warily.  
“Well, I was simply wondering why you left the Centricide house. I know how important the Centricide was to you. You would always say that the centrists were just as bad as the fashies since the centrists passively enable the fascists. Speaking of which, what happened with Nazi?” Tankie asked, one question leading to another.  
Ancom hesitated, then said, “The Centricide was bad for my mental health, it was stressful, anxiety inducing, all that. It started taking a toll on my grades —in gender studies no less, and that’s my best subject— so I just had to leave.”   
“And about Nazi?” Tankie pressed.  
“I don’t know, he just… he said something about putting me in my place before I could leave the Centricide cause?” Ancom involuntarily shuddered at the memory, quem’s eyes seeing past Tankie to some time in the distant past.  
Tankie wasn’t sure how to respond, he’d never been good at talking about feelings. There was a tense silence.  
“If you… if you ever want to talk to someone, I’m here, comrade.” Tankie said, internally beating himself up for all the things left unsaid as he got up and went to busy himself with tidying up the house, if it could even really be called a house.  
The rest of the day progressed in a sort of silence, with Ancom sleeping on and off while Tankie tried his best to clean.  
The next day, Ancom was able to get up off the couch and actually help with cooking, though Tankie was reluctant to let quem do anything except rest more. As the sun set, Tankie and Ancom sat eating dinner on the back “porch.”  
“You know Tankie, I feel a lot better now. So it’s totally fine if you want to go back to the Centricide house.” Ancom said as qui munched on quem’s gluten free pasta.  
“No comrade, I insist on staying until you are fully recovered.” Tankie replied firmly.  
Ancom didn’t argue, Tankie wasn’t the type to easily change his mind, plus, qui was more than happy to have Tankie stay for a bit longer. Still, as the days passed, Ancom didn’t want to force Tankie to stay, yet Tankie remained steadfast in his decision. “I will stay until you have recovered,” he would always insist when Ancom tried to raise the topic. At first Ancom didn’t mind, qui would admit that it was nice to have someone around, especially Tankie, but after about a week it got annoying.  
“Tankie, you can’t stay here forever.” Ancom said over dinner.  
“But I can stay here until you are well, that is what I have been saying.” Tankie replied stubbornly.  
“But I am well, Tankie. I’m fine.” Ancom insisted, trying to keep the whine out of quem’s voice.  
“But… what if Nazi comes back?”  
“Look Tankie, I appreciate your concern, but I can protect myself. I always have my bat ready to bash the fash.” Ancom said slightly jokingly, gesturing to the bat in quem’s lap.  
Tankie hesitated, his face unreadable. Finally after what seemed to Ancom like several eternities of silence he said, “Fine Ancom, but please call me if you need anything.”  
“Don’t worry, Tankie.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More of Tankie and Ancom being awkward

Ancom lay in the field outside of quem’s house, staring at the second chapter of the Communist Manifesto in frustration. Qui had been staring at it for so long that the letters seemed to swim on the page, rearranging themselves and forming an unreadable soup. Ancom squinted, turned to book upside down, tried to concentrate even harder, but qui just couldn’t read Tankie’s dumb theory book, and trying just made quem feel stupid, though qui tried to remind quemself that intelligence was just a social construct. Instead, Ancom’s mind drifted back to Tankie and his smiling face as he had fed Ancom borscht.  
Ancom had wanted Tankie to leave. Ancom had thought that without Tankie making quem flustered, qui could make the decision to leave the Centricide. But now that Tankie had been gone for a few days, Ancom just felt oddly lonely. Oddly empty. Suddenly, a voice interrupted quem’s thoughts.  
“Hello there, Ancom! I was worried since you weren’t in your house, what are you doing out here?” It was Tankie, of course.  
Ancom quickly stood up, brushing the grass off of quem’s hoodie and trying to hide the Communist Manifesto behind quem’s back.  
“Tankie, why are you here?” Ancom asked slightly suspiciously, not in the mood to deal with people.  
“Well... I was worried about you” Tankie responded with a bit of difficulty, avoiding Ancom’s glare.  
Ancom knew Tankie was just trying to help, but qui’d asked Tankie to leave, hadn’t qui? Why couldn’t Tankie just respect Ancom’s wishes without assuming he knew what was best for quem for once? Thinking about this just make Ancom more frustrated than qui already was about quem’s attempts to read Tankie’s book.  
“Tankie, I know you mean well, but I’m not a child in need of protection!”  
“I never said I thought you were a child!” Tankie interjected.  
“Yes, but it’s clear you think so! You always want to protect me, always think you know what’s best for me, always fucking talk down to me! I’m done with you and your stupid book! I can’t read it anyway!” Ancom yelled, tears of anger welling up in quem’s eyes as qui flung the copy of the Communist Manifesto at Tankie.  
Tankie stared in shock at Ancom, clearly surprised about quem’s outburst.  
“Ancom, I’m just trying to help!” Tankie started to say, but then stopped. “No, that’s not… I… I’m… I’m sorry” Tankie said with some difficulty, his gaze anywhere except Ancom’s face as he blushed beet red.  
This surprised Ancom even more than quem’s own outburst, qui knew that Tankie was a very proud man who almost never admitted being in the wrong. But before Ancom could answer, Tankie redirected the conversation.  
“Ancom, I… I didn’t know you still had the book I gave you.”  
Now it was Ancom’s turn to blush as qui responded meekly, “Yeah… it reminded me of you, even if I can’t really understand, or even read it. I guess I’m just dumb…”  
Again, Tankie stared in shock, thinking back to all the times Ancom had avoided reading theory. It all made sense now, like the pieces of a puzzle falling into place.  
“Ancom, do you have dyslexia?” Tankie suggested.  
“What’s… what’s that?” Ancom asked with a confused look on quem’s face.  
“Well I’m not an expert, but it’s like a learning disability that makes it hard to read.” Tankie replied.  
“I mean, I can read, but it just takes so long to form the words and sentences and it’s so confusing. I never knew there was a word for it… I honestly just thought I was stupid” Ancom admitted.  
It felt good to finally tell someone, and a tear, either of relief or happiness or leftover anger rolled down Ancom’s cheek. Tankie stepped closer to Ancom, brushing off the tear gently.  
“Ancom, I’ve been unfair to you. You’re not a child, you’re not stupid, in fact you’re one of the smartest people I know. I just can’t help worrying about you, because…” Tankie’s voice trailed off as he blushed, still staring into Ancom’s green eyes.  
Ancom’s heart pounded as qui stared back, thinking qui knew what Tankie was about to say but not wanting to hope.  
“Well, I-” but Tankie’s sentence was cut short as Ancom’s lips met his.  
Tankie was taken aback, and seeing Tankie’s response, Ancom pulled away, blushing and stuttering as qui said, “Tankie, I’m so sorry, I just thought-” but this time it was Ancom who was cut short as Tankie kissed quem passionately. At some point they had to pull away for air, and Tankie finished his sentence.   
“Anarkitty, I love you”  
“Anarkitty?” Ancom asked, smiling.  
“Oh, I didn’t mean, er, it just kind of slipped out” Tankie hastily replied.  
“No, it’s cute, say it again!” Ancom giggled at Tankie’s obvious flusteredness.  
“I love you, Anarkitty”  
“I love you too, Tankie”


End file.
